


Take Me as I Am

by Cataclyzmic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: And enjoy the ride, F/M, Grim Reaper style AU, Mostly it's the author being a dramatic little bitch, Not between Kylo and Rey, Rape/Non-con Elements, but here we are, so bare with me, that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cataclyzmic/pseuds/Cataclyzmic
Summary: Kylo is Death.Rey is just a girl.Well, not just a girl. She’s The Girl.The girl that Death leaves in his wake.Until he doesn’t.





	Take Me as I Am

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Reylo Monster Week: Day 7 - Free Choice. 
> 
> It is loosely based on the "5 Times This, 1 Time That" format, but it's not strictly adhering to it. 
> 
> I'm putting this as a Mature rating for the violence, so be warned if that's a trigger for you, or simply not your cup of tea. 
> 
> All the boring stuff aside, thank you to cristinuke and schi-walker-locked for betaing this for me. They got an earlier draft and basically told me I wasn't shit, which boosted me to finish this. All grammatical and thematic mistakes are mine, and mine alone. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Happy Halloween! Stay safe, kiddies.

_ I hope you're still with me _

_  
_ _ When I'm not quite myself _

_  
_ _ And I pray that you'll lift me _

_  
_ _ When you know I need help _

 

\---

 

Kylo is Death. 

 

Rey is just a girl. 

 

Well, not  _ just _ a girl. She’s  _ the girl _ .

 

The girl that Death leaves in his wake. 

 

Until he doesn’t.

 

\---

 

The first time Kylo sees Her, she sees him first.

 

He had come for her parents. They’re draped across either side of the couch, slack-jawed and comatose. The father didn’t even bother to pull the needle from his arm before passing out. 

 

Her eyes are on Kylo, wide-eyed, when his finally meet hers. She sits at the small kitchen table, crayon in hand, paper covered in colorful crosses and triangle-shaped bodies below her stilled hands. 

 

It’s unnerving, because they aren’t  _ supposed _ to see him. Only those chosen to walk with him to the next world should be able to. And yet-

 

She looks at him a moment more before her eyes tick over to her parents. When her eyes settle back onto his, it is a realization that no 5-year-old should ever understand. 

 

Technically, her parents are scheduled for another 7 minutes and 23 seconds before he has to take them: choking on their own vomit. 

 

His jaw works. 

 

He’s brought the old, the broken, and children across the tumultuous divide between worlds. There have been some that have made him hate his job, but when she’s looking at him with that knowing stare again-

 

Without another thought, he extracts the remnants of their souls from her parents’ bodies, careful not disturb their supine forms any more than he needs.

 

In a flash, she is up from her chair, stumbling towards him, screaming for him to  _ stop: don’t leave, please let them come back _ . He glances to her parents’ souls, preparing to intervene, but their presence doesn’t seem to register in her eyes: She can’t see them. In this way, she is spared the lifelessness of their souls: catatonic, eyes glazed and unfocused. His pushes them along and praises the Maker for this one grace.  

 

He takes one more look over his shoulder at her: somehow, his ghostly skin manages to pale even more. 

 

All that’s left in the shallow of her eyes is the carnage of his wake. 

 

\---

 

The second time Kylo sees her, he sees her first. 

 

The room is quiet: a handful of kids and a nurse surround the old woman’s bed. The dying woman is so small, he’s sure she was dwarfed by the children even when she was healthy. They are weeping around her now, ranging in ethnicities and ages. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know that this woman is going to the right place. 

 

To the left, she, The Girl, is holding her hand and sniffling quietly while the hospice nurse administers more IV pain medications. The soft look on the dying woman’s face is void of any pain or suffering: she looks almost peaceful, if he believed in such a notion. 

 

The Girl couldn’t have been much more than a few years older since the last time he had seen her, but she had grown significantly. Even in her supplicant position at the side of the bed, he could see the difference in the long bones of her arms. 

 

He retreats back from the crowded bed in hopes to remain unseen from her omniscient eyes. But, as if drawn to his presence, her head swivels and finds his post in the shadows almost immediately. Impossibly large eyes widen in the moments after the comprehension resolves in her mind.

 

Her chin wobbles more violently and tears stream down her face in earnest now.

 

His eyes hold hers for a moment before he nods solemnly towards the dying woman. He moves to sit on an abandoned settee in the corner: Unmoving, for the time being. 

 

The Girl turns back to the woman with renewed concentration, wiping her nose with the back of her ratty, woolen sweater. She grasps the shriveled hand a little tighter between her two younger, stronger ones. 

 

Years ago, he’d taken 7 minutes from her. Today, he could give them back. 

 

\---

 

The third time Kylo sees her, he learns her name. 

 

And he is heartbroken. 

 

Many times, Death is called upon after someone has experienced years of suffering, when a person has a deep understanding of his purpose: His presence is familiar, or even happily welcomed.

 

But more times than that, Kylo is called upon in an instant: in moments of rage, regret, and despair.  

 

He can see all of these emotions playing along the planes of The Girl’s face now: they battle for control over her watery features as she kneels over the small, twitching animal in front of her. Her hands hover, dancing around the kitten’s body, as if unable to distinguish where to help it first, or if she will only do more damage. The indecision paralyzes her. 

 

Her clothes fit tighter now. He’s not sure if it’s because she fills them out more, or if she can’t afford to buy new ones. They hug her, hinting at the curves her body is starting to form in the infancies of her adolescent years. The hormones wreaking havoc on her are undoubtedly stoking an even stronger fire within at this devastating moment. 

 

So engrossed in her crippling pain, Kylo missed the other corrosive being in the room. 

 

“Stop snivelling,” a piggish man snapped at her. Either she didn’t hear, or she simply ignored him. 

 

“Rey!” he snarled. “Look at me.”

 

Her eyes fell onto his with a unrestrained despair. 

 

“You bring a rodent like that in here again,” he paused to point a finger at her, “and I won’t just throw it against a wall: I’ll drown it.” Not a trace of remorse can seen on his face as he walks out of the room. 

 

The man’s footsteps echoed up the stairwell when the kitten makes a strangled sound: more of a mewl, really, and not a happy one. Rey releases another anguished sob, fresh tears painting her cheeks as she clenched her hands in front of her face. Kylo is drawn out of the shadows, unable to remain a bystander to her pain any longer. 

 

Her wide, glistening eyes snapped to his in an instant. There is no fear in her face, no anger: Just hope. 

 

“Please.” 

 

Kylo doesn’t need to clarify what she’s asking for. The kitten’s breathing is rapid and erratic. Shoulders twitch and its head lolls unnaturally where it’s laid crookedly on the basement floor. No doubt, its back is broken and beyond humane repair.

 

He kneels down across from her and in a soothing motion, unburdens the last shrouds of life from the animal. The kitten’s soul trots away from its ephemeral body and sits next to Rey, unbeknownst to her. It looks up at her with half-lidded eyes, tingeing the air with unspoiled happiness. 

 

Rey releases the shuddering breath that she was holding and her chin wobbles again. She bends over and places a delicate kiss on the late kitten’s head.

 

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the collar of her holey shirt. 

 

When her eyes meet his again, it’s brimming with gratitude. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Her hand is reaching for Kylo’s, and for an instant, he lets it. By some enigma, she can  _ see _ him,  _ has _ seen him. The empty cavity in his chest clenches around nothing, clinging to a false hope that, perhaps, one more sense can be conquered. However, an ugly emotion lashes out quickly after the thought passes through his brain and rapidly snuffs the hope before it can grow roots. 

 

He is thankful in that moment that his world works faster than hers, because he is able to evade her with little effort, raising himself up from his knees and away from her influence. 

 

Rejection masks her face, but he doesn’t linger long enough to dwell on it as he steps back into the shadows and out of her realm, the blackness enveloping him in a comforting embrace. 

 

\---

 

The fourth time he sees her, he acts on instinct. 

 

Kylo is just emerging into the mortal world when he sees Rey’s arm is rearing back, carving knife in her hand. 

 

He has a moment to take in the scene before him: her, half-kneeling on the dirty kitchen floor, a bruise quickly painting itself along her jaw, shirt stretched and torn at the collar of her shirt, and pants half opened, the metal button missing at the top. And him, the piggish man, laying below her -- a look of elicit horror across his face. An ugly bruise is forming at his temple and his nose is bleeding profusely. Given the unnatural angle to his leg, and the metal baseball bat a few feet behind him, he suspects she also broke his knee.  

 

Fear, revenge, and  _ murder _ radiate from her. The look in her eyes as she looks down at the boorish man, teeth clenched and bloody, is  _ feral _ \- rationality has clearly been tossed aside to assuage this powerful, more potent urge. 

 

She is an adult now, but only just. The last vestiges of youth still cling to her face: the skin around her eyes are smooth, and the skin covering her cheeks remain unblemished, despite the flush of rage coursing through her in that moment. 

 

Her arm is flying down at a blinding speed when he moves. 

 

His fingers wrap around her wrist firmly, effectively stopping the trajectory of her violence. The momentum of her motion transfers into her torso as she begins to twist away from him, and he flicks his other arm to grab at her waist to keep her from crashing into the floor below them. 

 

When her eyes swivel to meet his, and he’s not sure which of them is more surprised. Both of their eyes settle at the junction where their skin meets. 

 

The ghost of a gasp sneaks across his lips. Her skin is warm, and not in the ghastly way he’s used to when he pulls reluctant souls from their earthly bodies. It radiates and  _ burns _ , almost painful against the illusion of his own flesh. 

 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder the thought though, because a snarl quickly replaces her moment of curiosity. She is scrambling to unlink her wrist from his curled hand. And she’s almost successful, if not for the death grip he’d accidentally latched to her with in his reluctance to let this moment pass. 

 

“Let me  _ go _ ,” she grits through her teeth, nearly thrashing against his grip.

 

He can’t say for sure why he was keeping her from ending this man’s life: from what he knew, he more than deserved it. But  _ preventing death _ … it was a concept he had hardly ever pondered, let alone acted upon. And he suspected there would be consequences for his actions. 

 

“No.” His voice was strange, even to his own ears. It had been so long since he’d had reason to use it. 

 

“ _ Let me go!” _ It isn’t a request anymore. Her other hand comes up to his fingers in a concerted attempt to wretch them from her wrist. He only doubles his efforts, careful not to hold her stronger than necessary. 

 

Her body is jerking so violently that the knife in her hand comes close to grazing her thigh on multiple occasions. After one swipe snagged a fold in her jeans, he quickly wrapped his other hand around her waist and brings her back against his chest, pulling the butt of the knife against her chest to keep the sharp edge pointing up and away from her. 

 

“Please-please, just let me-” she squirms against him, sobs starting to shake her torso. He holds her closer. 

 

“I ha- I have to.  _ I have to _ -”

 

The fight leaves her as quickly as it appeared. She sags against his chest as her sobs rattle her entire body, and he sits back on his heels before he folds them up against the side of the counter. She is crying in earnest now, and he take the opportunity to pull the knife from her hand, pushing it far away from them and the broken man in front of them. 

 

The piggish man is looking at Rey as if she had finally snapped, his face drowned in contempt and disgust as he slowly tries to crawl away. Kylo regrets giving up the knife so quickly. 

 

Tears and phlegm drain down her reddened face as she clings to the arm around her waist with more strength than he was aware she possessed. Carefully, as not to startle her, he brings his other hand around her chest to settle on the nape of her neck. Her head tilts into the cradle of his hand and swallows briefly before a new stream of tears pours down her face. 

 

On instinct, he bent his head down and brushed his lips over her temple. His body moved hesitantly, as if it knew this was uncharted territory on so many levels, but couldn’t stop the impulse regardless. The ends of his hair brushed over her cheeks, but it didn’t seem to bother her: She only pushed closer into him as she continues to cry. 

 

Sometime later, when the man had long since passed out, no doubt from the pain that came from trying to crawl with a shattered knee, Rey gave a final sniffle. Her tears had dried in salty traces on her face, but she'd kept herself pressed into him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

 

Their time was running out: Kylo could feel the strings pull at his bones, tugging him from her warm body. He fought against it, wrapping his arms closer around her. Her immediate response was to huddle into him, and he nearly whimpered at the notion. 

 

“Don't go.” 

 

Her voice was so small, hoarse from crying and muted in his neck -- he felt more than heard her say it. 

 

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and it brushed along her hair where he pressed his face. Her breath was evening out and becoming deeper: Sleep wasn't far from her grasp. 

 

Carefully -- despite her mumbled protests -- Kylo scooped her up in his arms and moved across the small room and down the hallway to a room he could only assume was hers. It wasn’t much bigger than a closet, but it was embellished in a warmth he innately knew was hers. 

 

Gently, he placed her on the makeshift bed, pillowing her head on the bundle of rags that vaguely resembled a pillow and pulled the small blanket over her body. She immediately curled in on herself fit beneath the blanket.

 

He hovered over her for a moment, indecision rooting him. And then, in a moment, he bent down, brushed her tangled hair from her temple, and pressed a fleeting kiss upon it. He allowed the warmth of her skin linger on his lips for a moment longer than he should have before he rose to his full stature. 

 

His steps were measured, but grew in power as he approached the man laying in the kitchen. He whimpered and twitched in his sleep. His eyes are more sunken than the last time he saw them, and he has taken on more of a hyde than skin over the years: Sun damage evident in its leathery appearance. Kylo watches him, taking small pleasures in seeing his suffering. But he knows he can suffer more. 

 

With a swift kick to what's left of his knee, the man wakes, screaming and clutching his leg. Before he has time to do much more, Kylo raises his booted foot and stomps it down on the man's already broken nose, a shiver of satisfaction running up his spine and the telltale crack. 

 

His howling is becoming reckless now, no doubt close to drawing the attention of someone passing by, or worse: Rey. So Kylo kneels down next to him, reaching his ephemeral hand into his flesh as he wraps himself around the lesser-man's larynx. 

 

His fist closes with a squelch. 

 

The screams suddenly stop, replaced with a hybrid of gurgling and choking. 

 

The man scratches futilely at his wrinkled gord, eyes rolling frantically around in his head as he tries to find his attacker. A smile stretches across Kylo's face, pulling heroically at the taught muscles there. 

 

With an easy air, he brushed his fingers down the man's chest and torso as necrotic tissue followed in their wake. He almost regrets crushing his windpipe so soon. 

 

It's a misconception that Death is violent and cruel (this moment permitting). The process of pulling souls from a body is delicate, one that requires patience and compassion. And it's the part of his role that Kylo completes with the utmost care.

 

But a soul that departs its body before it's ready is tricky. Life stitches body and soul together, and it is damned to let go until it's good and ready. The soul, for all its transparency, holds a physical connection to the mortal world. Pull too hard, or on an unwilling one, and a soul can  _ rip _ . The slightest tear throws it into turmoil: The very act causes it to fold in on itself over and over and over until it's a ball of kinetic energy, grasping blindly towards nothing as it struggles to find balance it will never achieve. 

 

Once a soul is thrown into chaos, there's no return journey: No settling in the Undying lands, no final testing place, just a Hell more purulent than the place itself. Although this has never been confirmed for Kylo, but he can  _ feel it _ : souls cannot lie to him. So it is his responsibility, should it happen, to snuff out the remaining soul in a motion that is swift and permanent. Few outside of himself possess such a power, and it is not to be done lightly. 

 

And not a service he plans to utilize today. 

 

Therefore, when Kylo reaches a hand into this deplorable man's body and roots it firmly at the base of his soul, he is fully aware of the consequences this man will suffer. 

 

He can hear Rey's deep, even breathing from the other room, and he brings his down to match it, finding the comfort in their uniformity. 

 

His eyes fall once more to the piggish man below him. There is no pity left in him to spare, no doubts left to fog his judgement: just the overwhelming feeling of righteousness.

 

And then with a quiet breath, he rips.

**Author's Note:**

> "Is That Alright?" by Lady Gaga from the A Star is Born soundtrack basically ran non-stop while I was writing this, so if you need a mood song: have at it. 
> 
> I had planned to turn this into one single chapter, but I couldn't get my butt in gear to finish by today. So I posted what I had, and the rest will follow shortly. Stick around for round 2!
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know! Your comments and kudos fuel my life. <3 <3 <3


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